Planned our wedding. Saved for it. Sold numerous worldly possessions (including semi-vital organs) to help pay for it. Talked a lot about it. Wouldn’t shut up about it. Narrowly avoided being stabbed with a biro by work colleagues for going on about it so much. Toned down the wedding talk (a teeny bit).

Lovingly hand-made 67 invitations for the wedding. Suffered roughly 3 billion paper cuts in the process. Wished I hadn’t committed to making my own invitations. Posted invitations. Received lots of praise regarding said invitations. Glad I made invitations. Felt warm and fuzzy inside.

Received evil death stares from my brothers for not shutting up about the bloody wedding.

Had an amazing Hen Doo to celebrate forthcoming nuptials, during which I captained my own ship, went ape and allowed fish to eat my feet for breakfast. Loved my girlfriends even more as a result. Returned from Hen Doo. Collapsed with exhaustion. Slept for a week.

Had a manicure with my mum. Collected the dress. Forgot the veil. Did not sleep.

Leapt out of bed at stupid o’clock in the morning. Had a fabulous time being beautified with my bridesmaids. Reunited with my beloved veil – courtesy of one legendary best man. Wedged into my dress by bridesmaids.

Fashionably late (by almost an hour) I skipped up the aisle and married the love of my life.

Posed for photos. Got my leg out and embarrassed my new in-laws as a result.

Yet another flawless Christmas delivery; bravo. Would you be so kind as to educate Royal Mail on how it’s done? Even just the basics – like good time-keeping and not dropping items before they reach their destination would be fabulous. As a seasoned miracle-worker though, if you can teach my Postman to smile, then there may even be an extra homemade double choc-chip cookie in it for you next Christmas!

Thanks, as always for my fabulous gifts. I knew they’d be amazing, seeing as I’ve been extra good this year (aside from the minor incident with next door’s cat and a Satsuma. In my defence – I spent 3 long months tending to that flower border before Princess Mercedes Armani von Fluffinton decided to desecrate it).

On the whole, I am pleased to report that 2011 has been a fabulous year. In summary:

Pros

Most importantly – I got married. We had a HEUWAGE party to celebrate. It was fabulous.

Of lesser significance – Wills and Kate also got married. I think they had a small doo to mark the occasion.

Did you like what we’ve done with the house? I thought you might appreciate the red accent walls, what with it being your favourite colour and all. Consider it homage to you. Apologies for the dead pine tree in the corner (not homage to you), I’m going to write a stern letter of complaint to my MP about that. I’ve known house flies live longer.

My organisational skills continue to impress and astound others. Just 2 days after Christmas and I’ve already purchased plentiful supplies of festive gift wrap, sticky bows, ribbon and cards, courtesy of the Boxing Day Sales, in preparation for next year (some call it “tight” I prefer the term “prepared”). Thank You cards have also been written and posted to all relevant parties. I might even surpass myself in 2012 and get Easter and Halloween in the bag by February. So in the interests of planning and organisation, I thought I’d provide my Christmas list to you for next year, nice and early – like, well, erm…now.

Boris Johnson for British Prime Minister. He’ll show the rest of them how it’s done.

A pink grown-up bicycle with bell, basket, ribbons and stabilisers.

World peace. Given that this may be something of a challenge – you have 2 years.

If you can see to it that the above demands are satisfied, then I shall endeavour to be an exceedingly good girl in 2012. I will tidy my room, make my bed, do the washing-up, pay the council tax, cook the tea, be nice to the Postman and promise not to throw any more fruit at felines with silly names (justified or not).

Please high-five the Elves for me on yet another job well-done. I think the youth of today could learn a lot from their strong work ethic. I’ll have words with David Cameron and try and get them an appointment at No.10.